


Nothing seems to make me feel “OK”

by Ghostly_Crystals



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Bad Eating Habits, Depression (described), Gen, Modern AU, Numerous trigger warnings, Suicide Notes, Zuko is a streamer, no real plot, self destructive tendencies, unedited, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostly_Crystals/pseuds/Ghostly_Crystals
Summary: Author self projects onto favorite character.
Relationships: All of the gaang (mentioned), Azula & Zuko (Avatar) (Mentioned), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Mainly Zuko, The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Ursa &Zuko & Ozai (mentioned)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	Nothing seems to make me feel “OK”

**Author's Note:**

> A few details in here don’t describe me. Like Zuko being a streamer, I’m not a streamer nor am I famous it’s just an idea that’s been rattling in my brain. To get passed any eating habits I threw at Zuko skip past where it says “the pit in his mind is good and band..” 
> 
> And “Sokka noticed his note...” 
> 
> Overall, read with caution please! If you have depression, an eating disorder, or have dealt with suicidal thoughts please be careful. 
> 
> To everyone, I’m proud of you for being here today. I know I’m just some rando but I am proud, and I hope you have a great day <3

Zuko stared at the ceiling above his bed, attempting to ignore the ever brightening sunlight outside. To the right of him, his monitor was still on showing the home screen of his favorite video game. The monitor beside it was also on, displaying a chat room for one of his many discord servers. His last sent message glares back at him as he turns his head towards his computer. 

_Firelord:  
I’m going to bed, see you guys later_

Of course, no sleep had came when he laid down. Zuko couldn’t even tell the time, the digital numbers on his computer were blurry. All he knew was that the sun was up, and he hadn’t closed his eyes for more than thirty seconds in officially two days. He wanted to get up and stretch, to go get some coffee, to grab his phone off of the nearby charge and tweet that today’s stream was canceled. He wanted to do something. Something to prove to the voices in his head that he was useful. That he could be fine. 

He longed for the days when he was younger where he could fall asleep within seconds of laying down. The next morning he would get up easily, go eat breakfast, shower, brush his teeth and get on with this day. Now, he can’t even sleep. A pit begins to grow in his stomach, a dark pit replicating the one in his mind. It’s a void, sort of, it’s a void but not empty. It’s filled with negativity, all of his insecurities and doubts. All his anxiety and trauma. While Zuko could describe it as dark, it’s light too. It reminds him that even though he feels dead some days he’s still human. 

While the negative thoughts are shackled to him, Zuko is simultaneously clinging to them. His mind feels empty without any thoughts, at least the negative ones make him feel something, even something bad. The pit in is mind is both good and bad, filled with things that poison him slowly everyday. The pit in his stomach, however, is empty. The pit exists because it is empty. Sure, he eats but when it’s days like this, the urge to eat is too much. He’ll eat and eat, getting some kind of satisfaction from the taste. Only to feel disgusted as he finishes. 

So he doesn’t on bad days. On okay days he can order something and eat it while he streams. Zuko doesn’t keep food in his house for that reason, self control. He’ll keep energy drinks on hand, simply for the boost and euphoria he gets for a few hours. 

Afterwards, he’ll be tired and maybe the sugar crash will bring sleep. Afterwards, reality will feel fake. He’ll look in the mirror and not believe that that’s him looking back at him. He’ll raise his hand and feel like someone’s pulling his strings. He won’t feel real. 

Zuko wishes desperately that he could get out of bed. The pit in his mind is making any action he wants to do turn to static. His limbs aren’t listening and his motivation is taking by the moment. So he lays there. 

He lays there and keeps diving deeper into the pit. He lays there and listens to his breathing. From near his computer, he can hear his phone going off every few minutes. Notifications from Twitter, YouTube, Instagram, Tik Tok fester and build up. Notifications he’ll look over minutes before stream. He’ll retweet and like on autopilot, saving whatever hype energy he has for the streams. 

The streams. 

Zuko plays video games, and streams it. It started out as a hobby, then one game he plays, Overwatch, blew up. Randomly, people would join and sub. Of course not all of them just stumbled across him. Zuko updated his YouTube frequently, uploading stream highlights, Vlogs, anything that came to mind. He was relatively good at Overwatch, even got a few invitations to league teams. He was on a few, but ultimately left for personal reasons. 

He still streams though, and those are the few hours of genuine happiness he experiences. Zuko feels like a leech some days. Leeching off of people who need entertainment but get stuck or settle with him. He feels like they all judge every breath he takes. Zuko knows one day his fame will drop, and they’ll move on. The viewers, the subscribers, the Twitter followers will all drop him like everybody else has. 

He’ll be alone. 

Still, he just lays there. 

Sure, he could ask his friends to play the game with him but they all have their own careers to focus on. They all hate him, anyway. He knows it. Zuko is always there, Zuko always tries to check in on them when they’re silent for days. Yet, on days like this all Zuko gets is radio static. Something in him is hurt by that, yet something else thinks it’s justified. It’s all his fault anyway. If he could show some drop of emotions other than indifference and borderline insane joy and energy, maybe they’d see that he was human. 

Was he though? 

The pit grows.

He moves on autopilot, he can flip the switch on his mood depending on who’s watching, he can adjust how he’s acting to match up with the envoirment. 

Just like a computer. 

But even those need energy to go, and right now Zuko has none. Maybe he’s just an alien, doomed to forever be alone and to carry the weight of his troubles on his shoulders. Maybe, at his funeral, the fans who never truly knew him, will be there. Maybe more fans than friends and family will turn up. It seems fitting. Uncle has seen how dark his mind can be, Azula unknowingly caused some of it, and father and mother had caused most of unintentionally and on purpose. 

Aang has seen him collapse from lack of energy. Katara found the lack of food at his house. Sokka noticed his note when he was helping Zuko move into his new house. Toph heard his drunken rants. Suki found him puking over his toilet after he ate too much at their Christmas party. They’ve all seen how much trouble he is, no doubt they figured he got better after therapy. What happens when you hire someone to fix your laptop? You take it home, and somehow it works as if there was never a problem. 

So what did non-human Zuko do? He went to one therapy session, pretended that he felt better, never went back, and lied that he goes every week. 

Does he feel bad? Yes. But the lying makes his heart proud just a little bit. The feeling is bad, it makes him think and it makes him miserable. Once the lie slips past his lips, his heart quickens just a bit and the relief he feels once the person believes it is addicting. 

So he keeps going. 

“Did you eat today?” 

“Yup. I made omelettes this morning, they were good even though I screwed up the recipe.” _He didn’t even go into the kitchen that day._

“How’d you sleep?” 

“Good. I had the weirdest dream-“ _He spent last night searching for charities to donate to for his next Charity Friday stream. By the time he chose one, it was early the next morning._

“What did you do today?” 

_Editing._ “I cleaned house, it took forever.” 

Then the conversations just carry on. Zuko will exhale subtly and zone out while the others talk. Weirdly, he can still keep track of the conversation even though he’s entertaining a self destructive train of thought. 

Laying in bed, Zuko sighs and rolls to his side. The wall greets him and he tries to focus on something else. It fails, just like that C that failed to reach Father’s expectations in middle school. 

The wall only serves to remind Zuko how alone he is. Thousands, if not millions of people know of him. They click on his videos, comment, they tweet at him, they join his discord, they watch his streams and donate. But they don’t know him. They don’t know how pathetic he really is. They don’t know Zuko like Zuko knows Zuko. 

Zuko knows all of his insecurities, knows all there is to know. Zuko knows that despite the trying, the drinking, the lying, the games he plays, none of it makes him feel okay. The streaming helps for a bit, but afterwards he’s back in the bull pen. 

An alarm on his phone goes off, and he wills himself up to turn it off. It’s 11. One hour before the stream starts. 

His head aches as he moves around the room, black thoughts fill his vision and he goes light headed. Still, he persists like he always has too, and makes it to his bathroom. 

He showers and turns the water temperature to the highest it can go trying to simulate an affectionate hug or any kind of human contact. He still feels cold. He leaves the shower, brushes his teeth, and dresses. He renters his room and throws any dirty clothes on the floor into the laundry basket. He sits in his gaming chair and pulls the headset onto his head. With a slightly shaking hand, he reaches to the mini fridge under his desk and pulls it open, his hand wraps around a metallic can and he pulls in onto the desk. The mini fridge closes on it’s own. 

He scrolls through his Twitter after letting everyone know that the stream starts in an hour. Before he knows it, it’s 12 o’clock and he opens twitch, and YouTube. 

Zuko starts the stream and pulls a smile onto his face as the view count starts going up, at the same time messages start flooding into the chat. 

“Hello everyone and welcome to this Friday’s charity stream! Today we will be streaming for twenty four hours and every donation will be donated to the JED foundation. This foundation provides help for teens, young adults, and adults who are struggling with mental health. They also raise awareness for suicide prevention and substance abuse. One hundred percent of donations will go them as well as any subscriptions from twitch!”

Zuko pauses to type ‘!donations’ into the chat to bring up the links for his viewers. 

“Donations of ten dollars or more will get a chance to play custom games with me. Donations of twenty will get a chance to play with me, and be a honorary tier three sub. Donations of fifty or more will get the previous rewards and a shirt signed by me. Any donations high will be announced as they happen.” 

He opens Overwatch and begins reading some of the chat. 

Right now, with everyone watching, a part of him feels seen while the other part feels neglected. At this point, Zuko can ignore everything wrong with him and be okay.

Zuko’s ignoring the reality that he will never truly be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
> 
> National S*xual assault hotline: 1-800-656-4673
> 
> The Trevor project for LGBTQ+ youth:  
> 1-866-488-7386


End file.
